


Olca Ingolë

by thecityofthefireflies



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Amon Ereb, Elrond's childhood, Family, Gen, Mentions of Elros - Freeform, Mentions of Maglor, Mistreatment of Children, POV Outsider, by oc not by a feanorion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-28 21:48:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11426868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecityofthefireflies/pseuds/thecityofthefireflies
Summary: Maedhros hand-picks a new healer for Amon Ereb.  This ends up being an unwise choice as the healer's scientific mind becomes too interested in the particulars of the half-elven twins.  (crossposted to FFNet)





	Olca Ingolë

**Author's Note:**

> Elrond and Elros are the equivalent of approximately 4 or 5 in human years.  
> This is kind of dark but only like a medium gray dark for a short bit. Nothing disturbing.  
> I’m a sap tbh. It was an interesting challenge to do this from Cestindil’s perspective bc my original idea was Maedhros’s pov
> 
>  
> 
> Elvish (Quenya)  
> Cestindil (Kest-in-deal) approximately means lover of seeking  
> Atani = humans  
> Pereldar - half-elves

 

Cestindil had not expected to be working back among his own people.  The Noldor factions were failing and in the early days, he had allied loosely with the Feanorions.  The ones who had lead his cohort had fallen leaving their numbers in disarray.  

 

So he had taken to traveling between the Atani settlements. The second-born were always in need of someone to treat injuries or diagnose ailments.  He made ointments for the joints of the elderly and sold potions for other problems.  He set more broken limbs than he’d like to think about and faced enough squalling babes to reaffirm his lack of desire to procreate tenfold.  

 

He cared little for the short-lived and uncouth mortals, but they were always so grateful for the little he did, plying him with food and gold and letting him stay in the best shelter they could offer.  

 

The only benefit outside of ease of lifestyle that really drove Cestindil was the study of illnesses he could make.  After seeing the insides and outsides of Atani in every sort of condition he could compare that knowledge to his studies of Elvish healing and his years of battlefield experience.  

 

Elves were truly superior.  They did not fall in except in fading or battle, they did not succumb to age, their bodies kept rejuvenating for eternity.  They did not feel cold and their senses were superior.  

 

Cestindil hardly saw the point of the secondborn’s existence.  Perhaps they were there as a form of entertainment for those of longer lives.  Their short lives playing out in passionate dramas rife with sex, scandal, and slaughter on a petty scale.  When Elves stirred things up, a minimum of an entire continent knew about it.  

 

At least he had a consistent run of patients he could try new herbs and techniques on and observe for long term effects.  Many of the plants were the same here as in Valinor, but there were some new ones.  It would behoove the Eldar to learn to use such resources.  However it was rare that an elf was willing to risk experimental herbs when injured enough to seek a healer.  

 

The mortals were desperate and knew no better.

 

He came back to his thatch-roofed hut on the outskirts of a small village after a forage into the surrounding area to gather herbs to find a flame-haired ghost towering over his workspace.  

 

The cloak the visitor wore was of thick weave but stained and in need of rehemming in a number of spots.  But even with the dust of travel and the passage of years the figure before him was unmistakable and in some ways nearly unrecognizable.

 

Maedhros looked horrible for an elf.  Compared to some of the men that had lived after bleeding under his hands on the same table Maedhros’s gaze was fixed on, he was more than passing fair.  But those well-shaped features were marred by gnarly scars and those once bright eyes darkened and haunted.  

 

“I need a healer for my forces.  Preferably one who can treat both elves and men.  You were recommended by the villages in the area.”  

 

“I am interested.”    
  
“You would be well-housed, separate from the barracks.  We are stable in our location, and there would be little personal risk.”  Maedhros assured offhandedly.  He then added an afterthought with a smirk.  “Unless, you’d like to stay in a hut among the secondborn?”

 

And so Cestindil had come to the fortress at Amon Ereb.  

 

He was given a set of rooms, simply furnished but more than serviceable, in a hallway adjacent to the rather well-stocked healing chambers.  There was a metal capped hardwood table for operating on that had rings along the edges to strap down a patient for surgery, a number of wooden beds with mismatched but clean sheets, and an array of preserved herbs in jars and bunches on a set of racks.

 

Cestindil had assumed his experience with multiple races was needed for a mixed group of soldiers, but Amon Ereb held a force of elves.  

 

He was informed that his services may be asked for by mortal traders or temporary allies, but the main concern was the set of young Pereldar twins.  Their blood was thinned by that of the Atani and they were prone to illness among other weaknesses.  

 

It was hard to believe from the way most of the elves - even Maedhros and especially Maglor - doted upon the boys, but one guard had quietly informed him that they had originally been brought as hostages.  It had quickly become apparent they were worthless as prisoners, abandoned by parents who were very unlikely to come to barter for them.  And so they had charmed the hearts of much of the keep.  

 

Cestindil had arrived in summer, and in the months as it cooled into winter, it seemed that every few weeks he was cyclically seeing one and then the other twin leaking, coughing, or sneezing some bodily fluid or another onto him.

 

And every time one of the sons of Feanor would be hovering.  Maglor was the more annoying to work around.  He seemed loath to relinquish his grasp on the sick child and certain each fever spelled mortality.  Maedhros was less obtrusive.  But he would lean against a wall, arms crossed, and stare unwaveringly until each stage of treatment was finished and he could bear the elfling back to bed.  The only change over the weeks was the thickness and number of blankets bundled around them.  

 

During those months, he did not think much about the Pereldar beyond their weak immune systems.

 

On a clear day after three days of the first snowstorm of winter, he noticed that they did not walk atop the snow.  Their thick little boots sunk in.  Not as much as a full-blooded man would, but enough to muss the white sheets outside.  

 

Cestindil was not the only one to notice.  Most of the other elves expressed the sentiment of letting the children have their fun.  It was a fortress full of elves who had no hope of their own offspring anytime soon and readily turned into fond pseudo- aunts and uncles.

 

But there were a number who privately complained about the trampling of the pristine snow.  The patches of grass and splotches of dirty snow made any yard visited by the twins become an eyesore.

 

Cestindil predicted more muttered complaints that night, for he could see from the window of his chambers that the twins were in the last untouched yard enjoying the afternoon sun.  They had started making a snowelf, but given up part way through, leaving a lumpy looking sphere of snow in a corner of the yard and instead struggling to throw clumps of snow at one another.  Their coordination - which Cestindil initially assumed to be poor because of illness or youth - was lacking compared to a full-blooded elfling at an equivalent developmental stage.  

 

Cestindil wasn’t the only one to notice the pathetic attempts, but Maedhros was a more patient instructor in his handling of it. The Elf-lord folded his tall frame down to kneel beside the pair and with a gentle hand straightened stances and corrected timing until their snowballs actually covered some distance, even if they veered to one side or another.  

 

After Maglor came to collect them to wash up before the evening meal and was met with a face-full of snow, Cestindil’s experimental mind set to wondering.  How did the mixed blooded twins differ from elves or humans? Which traits were at a midway point between the two, like sinking only a little into snow, and which ones were dominated by the traits of man or elf?

 

There was only one way to investigate further.  

 

***********

 

It was harder than Cestindil had predicted to satiate his curiosity.  He only wanted to look at one twin, managing two children when he did not need to was unnecessarily difficult.  And he did not think the Feanorions would understand his intentions.  

 

Finally, one of the Pereldar, unaccompanied, had tripped over snow covered rocks and skinned his hands upon landing.  Cestindil swooped on him in a show of sympathy and took him to the infirmary.

 

He offered platitudes and plopped the child up to a seat on the metal work table.  The boy was watching his hands and sniffling.   Cestindil hoped he would not cry.  The door was heavy and thick and the exterior hallway often empty, but sounds tended to echo off the bare walls and Cestindil did not want to work through such noise.   

 

“Where is your brother?”  He said casually, both out of curiosity and a distraction.

 

He checked the boy’s heartbeat and breathing, telling the boy it was part of his treatment.  He wrote the numbers down in a notebook of observations.  

 

“Elros is with Maglor having music lessons.”  The boy- Elrond then- reported.  

 

“Ah.  I thought you had lessons together?” Cestindil hid a frown.  It would not do for Maglor to immediately come searching for the boy and jump to a false conclusion of the situation.  

 

“I had a headache and the harp is loud and Elros is bad at it so Maglor said I could go outside where it's quiet if I went to find Maedhros.”  Then Elrond’s tone took on a whine, “but the soldiers outside told me Maedhros went out hunting on his horse.  So I was just walking around because I did ‘ _try_ to go to find Maedhros’ and then I fell and you took me here.”  

 

“I'll take a look at your head too.”  Cestindil could not have picked better circumstances.  

 

He grabbed the boy under the jaw and maneuvered his head to look at his ears.  Elrond grunted unhappily and tried to jerk away.  Cestindil only tightened his grasp and began sketching the shape of the only moderately pointed ear.  

 

“‘S’not my ear that hurts!” Elrond hit his forearm with little fists that did nothing but annoy.  

 

“Cease your thrashing!  Do you presume to be a healer?  You can hardly read much less know more than an adult.”  Cestindil finished his sketch.

 

He had previously prepared two pieces of discarded harp string and stretched them over pieces of wood. One very fine and short, the other a long wide cord.  He wanted to gauge the boy's range of hearing.  

 

He instructed Elrond to tell him when he played a note, and began plucking the fine string as gently as possible, a faint high note, and then progressively louder.   He repeated the process with the large string.   It seemed he could hear the same range of notes but not the softest sounds.  

 

He finished his notes on ears and reached for a candle to examine eye dilation.  Then he paused and considered Elrond’s angry occasional bats with his fists and instead seized an unwound length of bandage left out from the laundry.  “I’ll not have you light me or this room on fire.”

 

Elrond held out his hands, expecting the still unmended scrapes there to be bandaged, he yelped in surprise when his wrists were grabbed by one larger hand.  Cestindil tied his wrists together and then to one of the metal rings on the work table.  

 

“Now sit still.” He said sternly, grabbing the lit candle and placing it on the table to be ready.  

 

He was glad he had already taken a pulse reading and measured breathing because the boy was panting wet gasps and his eyes were wide and glistening.  

 

“You're supposed to fix my hands.”  The boy was desperately confused.  “This isn't what healers do.”

 

“I'm observing you.  If I know how your half-breed body works, I can treat it better.”  Cestindil put minimal effort into placating.  He picked up the candle.

 

“I want Maglor.”  Elrond whined. Cestindil sighed and set the candle back down.

 

“He's too busy to drop everything for you just because you _want_ him.” He picked up the candle holder again.  “Now stay still.”  

 

“I don't want you to fix my hands anymore - I want to leave.”  Elrond put new effort into wiggling away and tugging at his hands.  Cestindil’s next sigh bordered on a growl.  He slammed the candleholder back onto the table next to Elrond who jumped at the force of it.  Cestindil grabbed him by his shoulders which were dwarfed by his hands.  He dug his fingers into the boy in frustration.  

 

“And I want you to be still and silent!”  

 

“You're mean and scary and I want Maedhros!”  Elrond’s voice went higher in distress.  He paused, staring and then his eyes changed with determination.  Cestindil did not expect it when the boy spat in his face.  

 

He slapped him.

 

Elrond reacted with shock, staring at him gape-mouthed and silently horrified.  Cestindil doubted he had ever been struck outside of playing with his brother.  He was blessedly silent now.

 

Cestindil held his head still again and leaned over to stare into Elrond’s left eye.  He brought the candle before the boy’s face and moved it back and forth and side to side, looking at what he could see of dilation of the pupil, the inner parts of the eye, and peripheral reaction.

 

Cestindil wished the boy would be more cooperative, or older, to see exactly what the distance vision comparison was.  But physical observations would have to do for now.

 

A droplet of hot wax overflowed off the candleholder and splattered on Elrond’s forearm.  He let out a whimper and both Cestindil and Elrond stared at the cooling wax.  Presumably they were having vastly different thoughts about it.  

 

Cestindil considered the difference between sensing hot and cold.  How much of a sensitivity to cold did the Pereldar have?  He supposed he could plunge the boy’s hand into a bucket of snow until he cried.  But with the boy already agitated it would not necessarily be an accurate measure.  

 

There wasn’t much else he could do today.  He would settle for a sample of blood, treating the boy’s scrapes, and sending him on his way after threatening him into secrecy.  He picked up a gleaming knife and a small vial.  

 

The door slammed open.  

 

“Healer! we have need of your-” Maedhros filled the threshold and then his eyes moved quickly from widened in surprise to fiery. His voice was thunderous. “What is going on here?”  

 

He crossed the room in seemingly no strides and Cestindil could not begin to fathom a reply before a powerful blow sent him to the floor with his head smacking the opposite wall and the knife and vial skittering across the floor.  

 

Maedhros pulled his own short dagger from his belt, and angled himself so that Cestindil was in his peripheral vision but his focus on Elrond.  The boy raised his tied hands trustingly and let out a pitiful whine.  Maedhros made quick work of cutting free the bandage and dropped the dagger onto the table to receive an armful of petrified elfling.

 

The elves who had been behind Maedhros in the hall entered, one of them with a scarlet soaked shirt and supported by two comrades.  Maedhros did not watch as she was lowered onto a bed, keeping a harsh glare fixed on Cestindil over the Elrond’s head pressed into his neck.  The boy was clinging to Maedhros like a parasite, weight supported by the handless arm and pressed tight to the elf-lord’s chest by the splayed-fingered hand of his other arm on the boy’s back.  

 

One of the other elves stayed next to the bed of the injured one while the other moved to stand next to Maedhros to watch Cestindil, hand on her sword and gaze stern.  

 

Only now did Maedhros remove his eyes from Cestindil and turn his head aside and down to look at Elrond.  His voice was quiet and tight, as soft as he could make it in that moment.  

 

“Can you tell me what happened?”  

 

The boy’s breathing became harsher and he shook his head into Maedhros’s cloak covered shoulder.  

 

Maedhros snapped his eyes back onto Cestindil and his previous glare returned.  

 

“Are you too upset to speak?”  His voice stayed whisper soft for Elrond.  The boy nodded and the anger boiling in his face intensified.  

 

Cestindil felt a coil of his own anger at himself for his curiosity and failure in this endeavor.  The details of half-breed brats were not something he felt worth dying over.  

 

Maedhros shifted his grasp on the child, moving his hand up to cup Elrond’s head and cover more of his back with his arm.  It was a cradling, protective hold.

 

“Were your skills not immediately needed,” His voice was steel and sharp disdain, and he spat Cestindil’s title, “Healer, I would have rightly killed you where you stood.”  

 

The elf next to him shifted her hold on her own sword’s hilt to one more ready to draw.  

 

“But, as it stands with current matters at hand, we require your continued existence.”  Maedhros seemed deeply displeased by this necessitation.  “You will treat your patient, and when her injuries no longer demand your attention, you will be exiled from my lands.  I only spare your life because Elrond is a sensitive child and will wrongfully take the guilt of your death upon himself.  So you may leave this keep alive.  But if you come back to these lands, you will be slain on sight.”  

 

“Thank you for your mercy, my lord.”

 

“That decision only stands for now.  My brother may think differently.”

 

The decree was more than Cestindil had expected, and after it he picked himself off the floor and ignored the ire of all in the room to examine the sickbed’s occupant.  Maedhros scoffed and picked up and re-sheathed his dagger before making for the door.  He stopped in the doorway, glancing at the child in his arms and frowning.  

 

“Additionally,” his afterthought held a dark tone, “Until you leave, if you are caught so much as looking at the Pereldar, I will put your eyes out with your own knife.”  

 

And then he left and his muttered reassurances to Elrond echoed from the hallway.

 

Ten days later, Cestindil was escorted out of the keep by two elves hand-picked by Maedhros, the same two who had carried their injured companion into the healing chambers.  A guard saw the three of them taking a path into the forest on the borders of the Feanorions’ land and then no one reported seeing Cestindil again.  

 

The escort elves returned to their lords smiling, saying they were merely happy to see the now unwelcome healer leave.  And if their grins seemed too toothy and matched by a knowing look from Maedhros, it was never noted in words.  

  
  
  
 

**Author's Note:**

> come cry about the silm and elrond's tragic life with me on tumblr  
> [@thecityofthefireflies](http://thecityofthefireflies.tumblr.com/)


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